Rochester, it may be frankly stated, had some time ago lost his heart to Lady Helen Douglas, who, on her part, to all appearance returned his affection. Nothing had yet, however, been said between the pair, although Rochester’s eyes proclaimed his secret whenever they rested on Lady Helen’s fair face.
He watched Mrs. Ogilvie now with a sudden interest as she folded up her husband’s letter.
“Well,” she said, turning to him and uttering a quick sigh; “he is off, it is a fait accompli. Do you know, I am relieved.”
“Are you?” he answered. He looked at her almost wistfully. He himself was sorry for Ogilvie, he did not know why. He was, of course, aware that he was going to Queensland to assay the Lombard Deeps, for the talk of the great new gold mine had already reached his ears. He knew that Ogilvie, moreover, looked pale, ill at ease, and worried. He supposed that this uneasiness and want of alacrity in carrying a very pleasurable business to a successful issue was caused by the man’s great attachment to his wife and child. Mrs. Ogilvie must also be sorry when she remembered that it would be many months before she saw him again. But there was no sorrow now in the soft eyes which met his, nothing but a look of distinct annoyance.
“Really,” she said with an impatient movement, “I must confide in some one, and why not in you, Mr. Rochester, as well as another? I have already told you that my husband is absolutely silly about that child. From her birth he has done all that man could do to spoil her.”
“But without succeeding,” interrupted Jim Rochester. “I am quite friendly with your little Sibyl now,” he added, “and I never saw a nicer little girl.”
“Oh, that is what strangers always say,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie, shrugging her shoulders, “and the child is nice, I am not denying it for a moment, but she would be nicer if she were not simply ruined. He wants her to live in an impossible world, without any contradictions or even the smallest pain. You will scarcely believe it, but he would not allow me, the other day, to tell her such a very simple, ordinary thing as that he was going to Queensland on business, and now, in his letter, he still begs of me to keep it a secret from her. She is not to know anything about his absence until she returns to London, because, forsooth, the extra week she is to spend in the country would not do her so much good if she were fretting. Why should Sibyl fret? Surely it is not worse for her than for me; not nearly as bad, for that matter.”
“I am glad you feel it,” said Rochester.
“Feel it? What a strange remark! Did you think I was heartless? Of course I feel it, but I am not going to be silly or sentimental over the matter. Philip is a very lucky man to have this business to do. I would not be so foolish as to keep him at home; but he is ruining that child, ruining her. She gets more spoilt and intolerable every day.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Ogilvie,” said Lady Helen, who came upon the scene at that moment, “I heard you talking of your little daughter. I don’t think I ever met a sweeter child.”